The Night of the Cold Hand
by the lurker
Summary: Based on the TV Series: Jim may have to pay the ultimate price to stop a madman with a deadly weapon.
1. Chapter One

The Wild, Wild West  
The Night of the Cold Hand  
by the lurker  
  
The cold wind howled against the windows of the train, some of it reaching into the compartments like icy fingers of a cold hand. Jim paced from one end of the main car to the other, feeling hollow and empty. Something he couldn't put into words was nagging at him. The closest thing he could describe was a feeling of dread, with no logical cause.  
  
The Wanderer was sitting on a strip of side track, about three miles from Augusta station. Arte had departed two days before, in the interest of establishing his presence in town and making some inquiries, leaving Jim behind to monitor communiqués from Washington. And then it hit him - with Arte's absence, the train didn't feel like home.  
  
********  
  
The wind blew cold against his back, his leather coat offering little protection. Working his way toward the edge of town through the rapidly growing snowdrifts, he wondered what in the hell was so important that it couldn't wait until their prearranged morning rendezvous; but then, he knew his partner wouldn't have summoned him out on a night like this, unless it was absolutely necessary. He saw the forest of pines just ahead on the left, and the one lone tree that stood out due to its excessive size.  
  
Pressing himself into the warmth of his coat, he stood under the huge boughs of noble fir, and watched the snowflakes fly wildly in the wind. Spitting out his chewing tobacco, he tugged at the gold watch fob in his left vest pocket, pulling the timepiece into view: 9:00 pm on the dot. It wasn't like his partner to be late.  
  
Twenty minutes passed, and the temperature rapidly plummeted. The old lumberjack began stamping his feet on the ground, in an effort to keep the blood in his toes circulating. He looked left and right, as far as the eye could see through the white haze that was growing thicker, but there was not another soul around. He clapped his hands together to warm them, creating a muffled sound through his worn gloves; he wasn't going to be able to wait in the cold forever.  
  
The sound of horse hooves pounding into the snow covered path caught his attention. He couldn't see a thing, but he knew the sound of galloping when he heard it. A slight smile curved his full lips. He was anxious to hear the reason he had been made to stand in the freezing night air, dodging snow and wind for almost forty minutes; he knew from experience that it probably had big blue eyes and silvery laughter.  
  
He didn't see the horse coming straight at him until it was too late.  
  
******  
  
Jim adjusted the cufflinks of his dress shirt and tugged on his jacket as he watched the waltzing couples glide by. He felt reasonably certain that he would be able to work his charms on the daughter of the man he and his partner had been sent to investigate. It might take a few dances, smiles and perhaps a kiss or two, but he was confident that it would culminate in an invitation to her father's house.  
  
He wondered how Arte was progressing. Earlier in the day Jim had seen him milling outside of the general store, chewing tobacco as though it were manna from Heaven. The disguise he had adopted was one of his better ones, although the idea that his partner could successfully swing a lumberjack-sized ax, much less hit a target with it, was cause for great amusement. In any case, by this time on a night like this, Arte would be safely tucked away in a warm bed at the local boarding house. They weren't due to make contact for another twelve hours, and by then Jim hoped he would have good news on the Sorsby front.  
  
For a fleeting moment, something unsettling insinuated itself in the pit of his stomach. But it was gone in an instant; he knew his partner was sleeping soundly, and most likely, snoring. His logical mind told him there was no cause for concern, but the knot forming in his chest told him something else entirely. True to character, Jim allowed logic to win out, and prepared to move in on his target, Angel Sorsby.  
  
Judging by the way she was turning down would-be suitors, James West had his work cut out for him.  
  
******  
  
He felt cold. Bitterly cold. He forced his eyes to open, and had to fight down the panic: there was a black void where sight should be. After a moment, he concluded that he was in a space with no light as opposed to blind. He let out a slow breath of air; where was he, and how did he get here? In an effort to remain calm, he inhaled deeply. He was rewarded with a sharp pain in his chest.  
  
His voice was barely a whisper,   
  
Slowly he tried to move his head to the side, but it pounded in protest. An involuntary shiver ran through him. His body ached in dissent toward any kind of movement, causing his breath to become labored. He knew he needed to keep his emotions in check, but such was an uphill battle as the panic began rising in his throat. He needed to focus on something other than his current situation, until he could get a handle on his fear.  
  
The message he received was obviously not from his partner; but who sent it, and for what purpose? He cursed himself for not realizing that the rider on the horse was not Jim, until the animal was upon him, and it was too late. Arte had no idea how long he had been unconscious. The only thing he knew was that he had suffered some fairly serious injuries, and his chest felt as if it was being squeezed in an arctic grip.  
  
He let out a long sigh of air. His life would depend upon his ability to stay calm and think clearly. He silently prayed that Jim would discover sooner rather than later that something had happened to him.  
  
*****  
  
The girl's laughter rippled through the room once again, Why Mr. West, you are most amusing!  
  
Jim smiled broadly at her, his eyes twinkling, As long as you mean that as a compliment, Miss Sorsby.  
  
He could see from her beguiling smile that she did, and gently he leaned in to steal a light kiss from her lips. When she didn't object, he lingered, and then pulled her into his arms tightly pressing into her. Jim deepened the kiss for a moment, and then broke away from her, causing the young girl to catch her breath.  
  
Mr. West.........you do so take away one's senses!  
  
He smiled easily, I aim to please. Tell me Miss Sorsby, will I be able to see you again, say, tomorrow night?  
  
Her lips pulled into a pout and her eyes dulled slightly, Oh no, Mr. West, I'm afraid not tomorrow. You see, my father is giving a dinner party. She smiled seductively, I have duties to fulfill as the hostess.  
  
Yes, I'm sure you do, his smile was so electric, the girl was transfixed. Jim pressed his lips lightly to hers, I don't suppose, Miss Sorsby, that you might consider inviting me, he kissed her lips, that way you could remain... he kissed her again, faithful to your father, and we might, he pressed his lips to hers once more, get to know each other better.  
  
Her voice was almost breathless, Why Mr. West, you are nothing shy of a devil!  
  
Jim laughed, Yes, I've heard that, so it must be true.  
  
He leaned into her once more, pulling her into a deep kiss. After a few minutes, he let her go, and she nearly fell over.  
  
He steadied her with an arm, Easy, Miss Sorsby. It wouldn't do for you to faint.  
  
She smiled, No, I suppose it wouldn't. Father would not approve.  
  
He kissed her lightly, I'm sure not. I'll see you tomorrow night then, Miss Sorsby.  
  
Jim bowed slightly and turned to leave, but her voice called him back, Mr. West, you don't know where I live....  
  
He grinned at her, Don't worry, I'll find you.  
  
She smiled to herself as she watched him leave. A girl could become lost in those endless blue eyes.....  
  
******  
  
Jim slowed down as he walked past the town's only boarding house, the temptation to check in with Arte almost overwhelming him. But he knew it was best to let his partner sleep; tomorrow was going to be a long day. Yet something wasn't sitting quite right. He couldn't put his finger on it, but things just didn't feel as they should. It was in the stifling air of the frigid cold, the quiet of the town, and the little hairs at the back of his neck standing on end.  
  
For a moment, Jim stood on the porch of his hotel, and watched the heavy snow rapidly fall, sticking to everything it touched. Ignoring the tension he felt in his neck, he turned and walked into the hotel.  
  
*******  
  
He awoke with a start, having no idea how long he had been unconscious. Groaning, Arte tried to lift his head. His neck protested fiercely against the movement, and his head slammed back down on the hard surface beneath him. He closed his eyes in pain. Instinct told him that he was going to have to force himself to move soon, or die trying.  
  
Arte tried to picture the face of the rider on the horse. Nothing was forthcoming. A deep chill ran through his bones, causing him to shiver. The assault didn't make sense. The note left for him at the boarding house desk the night before, only changed the time of the meeting, not the place. Whomever sent it knew the rendezvous point. The mission he and Jim had been sent to execute was so covert, only the highest levels within the President's cabinet knew about it. That thought sent a wave of concern through him. If there was a leak on the Secret Service end, then Jim was in terrible danger.  
  
Straining against his screaming muscles and bones, Arte forced his right arm to reach out to the side. It hit something cold and wet very quickly. He ran it as far as he could reach in all directions, and all he could feel was a wall of cold. His hand moved along the floor, and it felt exactly like the wall. A sinking feeling crept into his chest. On a hunch, he stuck his arm straight out in front of him, upwards: It was quickly stopped by the same icy surface he felt all around him. The radius of the area seemed to be no larger than the length of his arm.  
  
Arte swallowed hard, in fear: he was enclosed in some sort of icy tomb.  
  
***********  
  
Jim had been waiting at the rendezvous point for almost thirty minutes. It wasn't like Arte to be so late. A glare moved across Jim's brow: Arte had overslept. There was going to be hell to pay. Jim headed toward the boarding house. Upon arriving he quickly climbed the stairs and went down the hallway. He stopped in front of room number seven and rapped on it lightly. There was no answer. Jim knocked a little louder, but to no avail.  
  
Once again, he tapped on the door, Arte? Hey, let's go buddy, you're late!  
  
There was only silence. Jim's lips pursed together, thinking. Then he knocked once more, almost timidly.  
  
  
  
When there was still no answer, Jim glanced cautiously around the hallway. He removed a lock pick from the back of his lapel, and turned the lock in the door. A slight smile played across his lips when he heard the gentle click. He opened the door, and quickly ascertained that Arte was not there, and by the looks of the bed, he hadn't slept there.  
  
Every fiber of his being told Jim that something had gone very wrong.  
  
He was almost out of the room when he spotted the folded white piece of paper on the dresser. Gently he picked it up and read it:  
  


Arte -  
Time changed to 9pm tonight, place same.  
- Jim.  


  
  
West's face turned ashen. Someone set Artemus up, and used him to do it. On the way back to the clearing of pine trees, Jim tried hard not to think of what condition Arte might be in if he had been hurt and caught out in the storm. Something in his soul whispered to him that he needed to hurry. Jim began running through the snow as quickly as his legs would carry him.  
  
*******  
  
Arte tried valiantly to move himself around his environment, but at the very least, his left arm was broken, and he couldn't feel his legs. He cried out in pain during his latest attempt, and lay crumpled not far from where he started. His breath issued in short bursts of air, his lungs unable to take in a full measure. The intense pain in his chest terrified him. The panic began rising up, and Arte knew he could no longer fight it.  
  
He swallowed hard and gritted his teeth, but nothing would keep the feelings of helplessness and fear at bay. A stifled sob escaped from his throat, and a moment later the flood gates on his control broke open. Arte lay in the sharp cold of his enclosure, shivering in pain, crying uncontrollably. An immense feeling of shame began to overwhelm him. He had never been reduced to such open sobs of agony.  
  
The stressed timbre of his whimpers filled the icy cavern, Jim.....help me.....  
  
*******  
  
Jim stood under the noble fir and yelled at the top of his lungs, Arte! Arte, where are you?  
  
He began to dig with his hands in the snow, all around the tree, but he found nothing - until he was under the thickest stretch of boughs. Buried under several feet of snow which had fallen during the night, Jim found a red bandana. He knew instantly that it was Arte's, he had seen it enough times. His partner probably had it tied around his neck. A chill raced down Jim's spine: fear. It was not a rational fear of the type he might feel for himself, but rather an irrational, all-consuming terror that engulfs a man when he is afraid for the life of the one closest to him.  
  
********  
  
Jim felt sick to his stomach. Not a soul had seen an old lumberjack, nor a much younger man answering to Arte's description since the night before at the boarding house dining room. A few people said they saw an old lumberjack walking toward the north end of town, just before 9pm, confirming what Jim already knew. No one had seen him since.  
  
As procedure required, Jim telegraphed Washington. He asked for backup and permission to begin an immediate search. To his surprise, the return telegraph informed him that he would neither receive backup, nor could he begin a search until after his mission was complete. The order came straight from the President's senior advisor for security, Senator Daily. Distraught, Jim went to his room and paced, trying to solve a puzzle for which he didn't have all the pieces.  
  
The thought of Arte in trouble ate away at this mind, making concentration next to impossible. Jim slammed his eyes shut. He needed to find his control. West shrugged on his heavy coat and left the hotel, heading toward the nearby stables. His breath was weighty in the air, the cold quickly pushing through his coat. His stomach turned once again. He tried to shake off the feeling of doom. Allowing his emotions to rule him would serve no one; not the country he was sworn to protect, nor the man he loved like a brother.  
  
He mounted his stallion, and galloped through the glistening snow, the black of the horse standing out in the moonlight against the white of the terrain.  
  
To be continued.....  



	2. Chapter Two

Jim watched Dr. Clarence J. Sorsby as he held court at the dinner table. The man was well into his 50's, impeccably dressed, not a hair out of place. His hands were soft and manicured, not at all hands that have ever performed any manual labor. Casually, Jim looked around the room, noting where security men were milling. Whatever he might think of doing, there was going to be opposition, that much was certain.  
  
Jim was seated between Sorsby and his daughter at the table, but he was having a difficult time making small talk much less following a conversation. Sorsby was speaking to him, but he had no idea what the man was saying. Jim plastered a polite smile on his face, and hoped he would figure out a safe response.  
  
I for one, am incensed by the lack of patriotism I find all around our great land. Why just twenty years ago, virtue, honesty and morality were the cornerstones of our young country. We're on the road to ruin, I tell you, and our government does nothing about it. Don't you agree Mr. West?  
  
Jim looked at the man, his brows furrowed, I'm not sure that I do, Mr. Sorsby.  
  
The man's daughter playfully tapped Jim's arm, Why Mr. West, whatever do you mean? Surely you believe in patriotism?  
  
Jim smiled at her, More than you know, Miss Sorsby. I just don't believe that our country is in as much danger from lack of virtue, as it is from the actions of madmen.  
  
Sorbsy's voice answered with an edge, Really, Mr. West? Can you cite an example of such a madman?  
  
West smiled easily, We've all read about them in history: little men with huge desires to rule the world.  
  
Well now, that certainly is food for thought.  
  
They stared at each other for a long moment; enemies sizing up an opponent for battle. Then the moment was gone, and Sorsby moved on to other topics with other guests.  
  
Jim smiled at the lovely young Angel. She was still his best route to accessing information on Sorsby. All reports from Secret Service intelligence indicated that the man was brilliant, but twisted. He held degrees in chemistry, biology, mathematics and philosophy. That thought caused a shiver to run through him. Or perhaps it was his concern over Arte. In either case, it wasn't missed by Angel.  
  
Mr. West, are you all right?  
  
He smiled at her, Of course.  
  
Sorsby jumped back in, Perhaps it's our climate - where do you hail from, Mr. West? I don't believe you ever said.  
  
Jim looked at his host, No, I don't believe that I did.  
  
I guess we could call you a wanderer then, eh?  
  
Jim's eyes locked with Sorsby's - was the choice of word a coincidence? West surmised not.  
  
Sorsby's lips curled up in an insincere smile, And what does a wanderer do for living?  
  
I'm sort of an odd-job kind of man.  
  
Sounds more odd than job.  
  
This barb pulled a laugh from those at the table, and Jim decided to let it go. He didn't feel very sharp. At the very least, he was off his game. Arte floated back into his mind; Jim fought the feeling of his stomach turning once again, and swallowed hard.  
  
Angel touched his sleeve, concerned, Mr. West, you look pale. Are you sure you're all right?  
  
Sorsby answered for him, Right you are darling, he does look unwell, see to him, won't you?  
  
Jim was slightly taken aback at the abrupt dismissal, but knew it might be a good opening, If you will forgive me then, Mr. Sorsby....  
  
Jim and Angel stood up, and she smiled, Come with me, Mr. West.  
  
Jim followed her out of the room, his stomach continuing to churn with worry. He felt a little lightheaded, but knew he would find a way to concentrate - he always did.  
  
************  
  
There was nothing but cold and pain. Arte's mind grew weary with distress. He couldn't stop shivering and his head hurt. How long he had been in the icy chamber, he did not know. The ache in his chest was growing steadily worse, and drawing breath was becoming a chore. Arte guessed that one of his lungs had collapsed, and he was probably bleeding internally.  
  
In that moment, some part of him knew he was going to die. Dying didn't scare him in and of itself; it was dying alone that gnawed at his psyche. It would be so much easier to take if Jim was by his side. An enormous wave of pain rolled through him, causing his muscles to contract. Arte tried to stifle his own cries, but he didn't have the strength. The agony ripped through him with no mercy; he could only submit. Sob after sob fought its way up from deep within him choking his throat, his broken body writhing in agony.  
  
Jim......oh God Jim, where are you?  
  
*********  
  
Angel welcomed his mouth to hers, warmly pressing into the length of him. Jim broke away, as a biting feeling of desperation rushed through him.  
  
What's wrong?  
  
Jim forced himself to smile at the girl, He stepped away from her, looking out the window at the snow covered countryside.  
  
She closed the gap between them and wrapped her arms around his back, There is something, Mr. West.....  
  
I'm just worried about a sick friend.  
  
Angel placed light kisses on the back of his neck, Someone close?  
  
He pulled away from her,   
  
Is there anything I can do?  
  
He forced himself to concentrate on the task at hand, although his mind felt slow and dull. He closed the gap between them, and put his arms around Angel, pulling her into him. Jim bent down, placed his mouth over hers, and kissed her deeply. After a few minutes, he gently pulled away.  
  
His eyes fluttered and he swayed on his feet,   
  
Angel watched passively as James West collapsed unceremoniously at her feet.  
  
*********  
  
Sorsby saw the last of his guests to the door, bidding them good night.  
  
As he closed the front door, he turned to the small aide known as Partnow.  
  
  
  
The drug in his food took longer than we anticipated, but it got him. Angel has him in the lab.  
  
A smile pulled Sorsby's lips into a curl,   
  
Partnow grinned, Having an insider on your team is very handy.  
  
Yes, the Senator has been very helpful. It will be a shame to kill him.  
  
He's a trusted member of Grant's cabinet, why should we give that up?  
  
He's getting nervous and sloppy; he's becoming a liability. We can't take a chance on keeping him alive. I've already dispatched a team to dispose of him. Cleaning up loose ends, that's the key to longevity in any game. Sorsby walked over to the wall and turned a sconce, causing a wooden panel to slide open, Come on, let's see how our Mr. West is doing. We're going to need his.....cooperation for the next phase.  
  
There's always the collateral.  
  
Yes, if our information regarding James West is correct, we're going to need it.  
  
They walked through the open panel, and the door slammed in place behind them.  
  
**********  
  
Angel brushed his forehead with a compress, admiring the chiseled features of his face. His eyes fluttered open and she smiled at him.  
  
That's better, isn't it?  
  
Jim tried to move and realized he was strapped down to a lab table, What the....  
  
Angel ran her hands over his chest, Don't struggle. You'll only hurt yourself.  
  
Sorsby's voice broke in, Not to worry my dear, I'm sure Mr. West knows better than to pull too hard on those tethers.  
  
Jim looked at the man, Yes, the more I pull, the tighter they become.  
  
It's such a pleasure doing business with a man who catches on quickly. You will forgive me these crude tactics, Mr. West, but it seemed the prudent thing to do with someone of your reputation. Sorsby turned to Angel, And it's time for you to go to bed now, my dear.  
  
  
  
--No arguments. I believe that Mr. West and I have some things to discuss.  
  
Angel recognized the tone in his voice, Must you take all the good ones?  
  
Say goodnight, Angel.  
  
She turned to Jim, Good night, Mr. West. I do wish we'd had more time.  
  
Angel bent down and stole a feather light kiss from his lips, before she floated from the room.  
  
Jim looked expectantly at Sorsby, You have gone to a lot of trouble to get my undivided attention....  
  
Yes, you're quite right, to keep you waiting any longer would be exceedingly rude.  
  
Well, I have nothing else to do at the moment....  
  
Sorsby walked over to the large table next to the one Jim was on. It was filled with beakers, burners and the like, This, Mr. West, contains several different chemical elements, which in and of themselves are perfectly harmless. However, when you mix the right ingredients together, you can make some rather deadly combinations.  
  
Sorsby stood still in his smugness for a moment, and Jim sighed, Thanks for the chemistry lesson. Is there a point?  
  
The man smiled in answer; it was a smile that sent a chill up Jim's spine. He moved to one beaker in particular, which contained a bluish liquid. Handling it carefully, the man picked it up and showed it to West.  
  
Inside this glass vial is ethylene, and when treated with sulfur chloride, he reached for a vial with amber liquid, it creates a compound gas that if prepared strongly enough, can kill within minutes of being inhaled.  
  
Sorsby set the vials back down in their holders and waited patiently for West to comment.  
  
Jim stared into the man's eyes, And like so many madmen who have come before you, your intention is to rule the world with it. Isn't that right, Mr. Sorsby?  
  
Hardly, Mr. West. I have no intention of ruling the world. Just the United States. Specifically through getting rid of President Grant and his entire cabinet, thereby opening the door to new leadership. And you're going to help me.  
  
Not on your life.  
  
How about yours?  
  
There is no way I will help you bring down my government, so you might as well kill me now and get it over with.  
  
Yes, I thought you might valiantly give up your own life in the service of President Grant.  
  
Then why are we still discussing it?  
  
Are you as cavalier about throwing away Mr. Gordon's life?  
  
Jim's eyes darted to Sorsby's, understanding lighting them up like a Christmas tree: not only did this madman have Arte, someone very high up in the United States government had betrayed them. A sinking feeling landed in his gut like a rock hitting the bottom of a well.  
  
West's voice carried the weight of an unspoken threat, What have you done with Artemus Gordon?  
  
Nothing. Yet. You do what I ask, and in return, you receive Mr. Gordon.  
  
The muscle in Jim's jaw stretched tightly, No deal, Sorsby. For all I know, you already killed him. I see him now or we're finished.  
  
Sorsby thought about it for a moment, I don't really need you, Mr. West. I have someone on the inside. He turned to Partnow, Kill him, and then kill Artemus Gordon.  
  
West called his bluff with an educated guess, If you thought Senator Daily was capable of killing the President, I would already be dead.  
  
You are as perceptive as I have heard. Unfortunately, Daily became a liability, and had to be dealt with. I availed myself of your partner as an insurance policy. The Senator was good enough to clue me in to the fact that Artemus Gordon is like a brother to you.  
  
Jim's timbre took on a steely quality, I see him now, or you get nothing from me.  
  
Sorsby smiled congenially, as though sealing a business deal, Very well then, Mr. West. I will arrange it for you, although I must warn you, he might not be in the best of shape. In the meantime, I'm afraid we must detain you. I'm sure you understand. I apologize in advance for the crude accommodations, but I'm afraid I can't trust you.  
  
West watched Sorsby walk out of the room, Partnow right behind him. He closed his eyes and silently prayed that Arte was all right. But deep in the abyss of his soul, he knew his partner was not.  
  
To be continued.....  



	3. Chapter Three

Arte wondered if Jim was looking for him. In the long run it didn't matter, he wasn't going to last. It was too cold, his injuries too serious, and his mind was growing dim. Memories from his life were passing through his consciousness, like a series of moving images. Arte didn't have many regrets, but there was one that stood out: he wished he had told Jim how much he meant to him. His heart felt great sorrow over that.  
  
He heard a scratching sound. Or at least he thought he did; but maybe he was imagining it. No, the scratching had transformed into a grinding. It sounded like two blocks of ice being rubbed together, and he thought he heard voices.  
  
Jim must have found him!  
  
His voice was a weak whisper,   
  
Suddenly there was light by his feet, and Arte had to slam his eyes shut from the brightness. Cautiously he opened them, and saw blurry faces coming into view. He could hear them talking, but didn't recognize either voice.  
  
Is he still alive?  
  
I don't know. It doesn't matter....he's not our problem. Now come on, let's get him and get out of here, it's damned cold.  
  
Arte's lips kept forming one word, over and over:   
  
*********  
  
Upon inspecting the Arte's injuries, Sorsby was astounded that Gordon was still alive. The hired hands who worked for him were neither the brightest nor the best, and they had neglected to tell him how much damage had been inflicted upon the agent. But then, it didn't really matter. Artemus Gordon only needed to stay alive long enough to garner West's cooperation; after that, he was merely a loose end that needed tidying up.  
  
**********  
  
Pushing a gun into Jim's back, Partnow led West up the broad staircase of the house, and into a small room, Sorsby right behind them. Jim's heart nearly stopped when he saw the pale body lying on the bed. Arte's face was almost grey in color, his lips slightly blue from exposure.  
  
Jim moved over to the bed in a daze of swirling emotion. He swallowed hard as he sat in the chair, the deep cut in Arte's forehead striking fear in Jim's heart. Carefully, he pulled down the blanket covering his friend, and his breath caught at the sight of Arte's battered body. His left arm was broken, and possibly a leg; but worse than that were the bruises covering his partner's chest and abdomen. Arte had taken a blow of great magnitude, as if he'd gone head to head with a freight train. Jim closed his eyes for a moment, trying to calm himself.  
  
He carefully covered Arte with the blanket, and for a moment sat perfectly still. The shock of his partner's condition was slowly sinking in. He drew in a deep breath, then gently, he took Arte's hand in his own. It felt as cold as death.  
  
Jim's blue eyes filled with moisture, his voice barely a whisper, Arte? I'm here, buddy.  
  
There was no response.  
  
Jim massaged Arte's hand, trying to warm him, Come on Arte.  
  
He heard Sorsby's voice bellow behind him, Time to go, Mr. West. You've seen that your partner is alive. If you want to keep him that way, you will do as I tell you.  
  
Tenderly Jim set Arte's hand down, and placed it under the blanket. Then he turned toward Sorsby, his eyes on fire.  
  
You son of a bitch.  
  
Jim took a threatening step in Sorsby's direction, but froze when he heard a trigger cocking.  
  
Don't do anything you will regret, Mr. West. If you're dead, who will save Mr. Gordon?  
  
Jim fought down the bile in his throat. Arte looked like he wouldn't last the hour, much less long enough for Jim to get him to a doctor. He shot a murderous look at Sorsby. All Jim could feel in that moment was blind hatred.  
  
Sorsby was cool, You're wasting time, Mr. West. If you move quickly, you can catch the next train to Washington.  
  
And then?  
  
Tell President Grant to convene his cabinet.  
  
I don't give orders to the President of the United States.  
  
No, I don't suppose that you do, Mr. West; however, Grant trusts you completely. If you tell him it's urgent that you speak with them on a matter of national importance, he'll do it. All you have to do then is smash two vials together on the floor; the gas will do the rest. I have a mask for you that will keep you quite safe from harm. Partnow and his men will secure the White House, and prepare for my arrival.  
  
And then you'll appoint yourself President...  
  
Not exactly President....I was thinking more on the lines of Emperor. Sorsby grinned at West, You'd better get going.  
  
And if I don't?  
  
The madman nodded to Partnow, who went to the bed and grabbed Arte's broken arm, causing Arte to scream in pain, Then you can watch while we kill Mr. Gordon one piece at a time. And I promise you, we'll make it most painful.  
  
Partnow pressed down hard on Arte's chest, and once again a howl of agony filled the room.  
  
All right, all right, Jim's face turned ashen, just leave him alone.  
  
At the very least, he needed time to think of something. Secret Service Agent James West was not about to kill the President and his cabinet. He would allow both himself and his partner to be destroyed before he would be a party to a coup d'etat. Jim tried to calm himself, then he looked back at Sorsby.  
  
May I please have a moment with my partner?  
  
  
  
Partnow and Sorsby stepped into the doorway, still within observation range. Jim went to his friend and ran a soothing hand across his forehead and through his thick hair.  
  
You have to hang in there, Arte.  
  
There was no response.  
  
Jim continued to stroke his partner's forehead softly,   
  
Gordon groaned in pain and his lips tried to form a word. Jim put his ear close to Arte's mouth, and he heard his partner whisper his name.  
  
I'm here, buddy.  
  
He felt a weak tug on his jacket, and he grasped the hand reaching for him. Water flooded Jim's eyes as he watched his partner struggle to breathe.  
  
  
  
Shhh, Arte, easy. I'll be back as soon as I can. Be here when I get back?  
  
  
  
Jim squeezed the hand in his, hard, Promise me, Artemus.  
  
  
  
West fought to keep the moisture in his eyes from falling,   
  
--Too much pain. Jim....  
  
Jim's voice was quiet, and colored with resignation, I know.  
  
Sorsby, sickened by the entire display grew impatient, yelled from the door, Let's go, West.  
  
Jim turned to leave, but the cold hand in his held on. The soft brown eyes were staring at him, and appeared to be lucid, the fear in them more prominent than anything else.  
  
Don't leave me, Jim.....don't want to be alone when it comes.  
  
Jim knew meant death. He had to look away. Artemus was immediately sorry he had voiced his own fear. Jim had enough to handle, and Arte knew his job was to make it easier somehow. An idea entered his fevered mind.  
  
Aware of their audience and in considerable pain, his voice was a whisper, My.....pocket watch....  
  
West looked on the nightstand and saw that Arte's watch had been placed there, he picked it up.   
  
His voice matched his partner's hushed tones, I have it.  
  
The fob.....open it....  
  
Jim turned the watch fob in his hands. After a moment, he saw a seam, popped it, and the compartment opened. Inside there was a small vial of liquid. He took it out and held it in his hand. Arte's eyes softened as he saw understanding dawn in Jim's blue ones.   
  
No choice now, Jim.  
  
Arte held Jim with the intensity of his eyes, waiting for the full meaning to come. It did.  
  
  
  
Jim, I'm dead already.  
  
The emotion was etched in West's face, I can't.  
  
Jim, please....  
  
  
  
Do it.  
  
Jim's eyes filled with moisture. The fear he felt for Arte's life was suddenly the only thing in the room with him.  
  
Arte prodded, Do it now.  
  
With a shaking hand, Jim gently poured the liquid between Arte's lips, and watched in horror as his partner swallowed it. The tears slid down Jim's face in silent sadness. Using his remaining strength, Arte reached up with his good hand and wiped them away. Jim grabbed the hand and pulled it to his chest in a gesture that spoke louder than words.  
  
Arte's loyal baritone lilted gently, Safe travels, James.  
  
Jim couldn't find his voice. He squeezed the fragile hand in his and simply nodded. He felt Arte pressing something into his hand; it was the watch fob. They exchanged a look, and Jim slipped the fob into his pocket. Overcome by his emotions, Jim quickly brushed the back of his fingers against Arte's cheek, and headed for the door.  
  
  
  
West turned, trying to sound business as usual, Yeah, Arte?  
  
You're the best friend I ever had.  
  
A lump formed in West's throat, and he could barely speak, Yeah, me too.  
  
Jim forced a smile at Arte, filled with a confidence he didn't feel. He knew his eyes betrayed him, but before Arte could comment, West left the room. Partnow and Sorsby were waiting for him.  
  
Sorsby smiled, Ready, Mr. West?  
  
Yes, I am.  
  
To be continued....  



	4. Chapter Four

The horses galloped through the snow toward the train station. Jim knew he had to take action before they arrived, but he was outnumbered five to one. In most circumstances, he would just fight his way through them; however, he couldn't take the chance that the vials in Partnow's pocket might be smashed. A lot of innocent people could die.  
  
His mind returned to the visage of Arte's pale body lying on the bed, and the lump in his throat reappeared. Jim felt a burning anger rise up from his belly, travel through the center of him, and explode the lump in his throat, replacing it with tension. He had to gain control of himself. West knew the tremendous rage he was feeling could be used to his advantage, but not if he couldn't temper it.  
  
********  
  
The horses slowed down as the riders approached Augusta station. The six men dismounted and handed the reigns of their horses to the station stable boy. They walked toward the steps, and Jim grabbed his stomach. A second later, he collapsed.  
  
Partnow bent over him, West? West....now what....  
  
Partnow started to call for help, when Jim grabbed him by the neck from behind. In a swift move, he grabbed the vials from Partnow's breast pocket, holding the containers out in front of him, like a weapon.  
  
I'll drop them. I swear to God, I will.  
  
That would kill you as well.  
  
As long as I take most of you with me, I'm okay with that. Jim looked at the rest of the men, waving the vials as if possessed, And what about all of you? Ready to die?  
  
Stay where you are, he's only trying to scare you, he has no intention of dropping those vials. We still have Artemus Gordon.  
  
My partner's dead. I gave him a lethal dose of arsenic. So you see, I really don't care what happens to me now as long as it saves President Grant.  
  
Sorsby's hired hands turned pale. Jim waved the vials closer to them.  
  
Who's dying with me tonight?  
  
That did it, the four guys took off in all directions. After a moment, Jim smiled at Partnow, dangling the vials dangerously out in front of him.  
  
Well now, it's down to just you and me. What do you think, a good enough day to die?  
  
Partnow studied Jim before answering, I think we both know you're not going to drop the vials, Mr. West.  
  
Jim smiled at him, handing the vials back to Partnow, Right you are, but since you're Secret Service, you knew that before....  
  
Partnow put his hand out, George Partnow, Special Services branch. How did you know?  
  
West eyed the man for a moment, President Grant told me about you, but he didn't know what name you were using, or if you were still alive.  
  
How did you know I was the agent?  
  
I wasn't sure until you passed up the opportunity to run - only another agent would realize the innocent collateral problem I had with dropping the vials. You knew you were safe.  
  
I've been under deep cover for the past six months, Mr. West. Special Services has known for some time that there was a leak in Grant's cabinet--  
  
--And you were sent in to find out who it was and what Sorsby was up to.  
  
Yes. Unfortunately, Sorsby was extremely closed-mouthed. I didn't find out until yesterday that Daily was the traitor, nor did Sorsby ever say how he was planning on executing his coup until tonight. Partnow looked at Jim, I'm sorry about Gordon....I couldn't help him without blowing my cover.  
  
Jim's voice remained even, The President is the first priority.  
  
Partnow nodded, You get the horses, and I'll go send a telegram to Washington. You want me to tell them about Gordon, or do you want to do it?  
  
Jim looked strangely at the man, then answered softly, President Grant would want to know. He's always been.... Jim's voice caught for a moment, ....fond of Artemus.  
  
Partnow headed toward the station door, I'll only be a few minutes.  
  
Jim's eyes took on a steely quality, his voice cold,   
  
The man turned, there was something unsettling in West's tone,   
  
Jim smiled, I'll get the horses.  
  
Partnow watched West walk through the snow to the stable, then he turned and headed into the station.  
  
To be continued.....


	5. Chapter Five

There were no lights on in the house, lending a stillness to the property that was nothing short of eerie. Jim looked over at Partnow, who nodded with his head toward one side of the house. Jim followed him, both their guns at the ready.  
  
Silently they crept in the snow until they found themselves at the far end of the building. Partnow held an arm out stopping West, he pointed toward a guard ahead. Jim nodded and indicated he would take him. Partnow watched as West walked up behind the guard, and quickly knocked him out with a blow to the back of the head. The man crumpled to the ground, the snow providing a cushion for the sound.  
  
Partnow joined West and together they headed for a small door which led to the basement. Partnow reached into his pocket and pulled out a key. After a moment, he opened the door, allowing the two of them to enter unseen. They moved through several adjoining rooms quietly taking out guards as they progressed. The two agents stopped in front of the large wooden door that Jim recognized as the entrance to the lab.  
  
West kicked the door in, and the two agents rushed into the lab. Sorsby was standing in the middle of the room, by a table, as if he was already expecting them. He was holding a large syringe, poised to strike. West stopped cold when he saw Angel strapped to the lab table on Sorsby's right, her eyes wide with fear.  
  
I think that's far enough, gentlemen. Put down your guns.  
  
Neither West nor Partnow made a move to disarm.  
  
Sorsby's voice took on an edge, Put them down, or she dies.  
  
Mr. West! Please help me!  
  
That's enough my Angel, no more outbursts, or Daddy might have to do something you won't like.  
  
He put the syringe to her neck and she stiffened in fear. The two agents set their guns on the floor.  
  
Kick them toward me. Now.  
  
Partnow and West did as they were told.  
  
Sorsby looked at Partnow, Thank you for sending word. What went wrong?  
  
Partnow moved forward and picked up the guns as he spoke, He jumped me, got the vials and scared the others off.  
  
Mr. West, you certainly are a thorn in one's side. And judging by your demeanor, you knew Partnow wasn't the real item......What gave him away?  
  
The telegram.  
  
What about it?  
  
Jim turned to the man pretending to be Partnow, You said you were sending a telegram to Washington. Protocol demands that an agent contact the nearest Fort for backup, not the White House. The ranking Army officer notifies Washington.  
  
Sorsby shrugged, Ah well, no one is perfect.  
  
What happened to the real Partnow?  
  
Oh he's very dead, I'm afraid. But before we finished him off, he was a real fount of information.  
  
Jim looked at the madman, It's over, Sorsby. When I picked up the horses from the stable boy at the station, I paid him to send a telegram to Ft. Halifax. The Calvary's on its way, Sorsby. You're finished.  
  
Sorsby placed the syringe at Angel's neck, I don't think so, West. You're going to use the soldiers heading here to storm the White House and kill Grant, or you will watch the lovely Angel suffer a most painful death.  
  
She's your daughter, Sorsby....  
  
Good thing she's not. I found Angel abandoned when she was quite young. She's been a lovely companion, but alas, whatever it takes to bring down this travesty you call a government.  
  
You're mad. I won't kill the President, even if it costs Angel's life and mine.  
  
Sorsby smiled, set the syringe down, and looked at West with fascination. He walked over to a lab table that had a white sheet covering what appeared to be a body. With a flourish, Sorsby yanked the sheet free, revealing Arte's corpse. Jim's breath caught in his throat.  
  
Mr. Gordon was far more shrewd than I thought. What did he take?  
  
The man who had masqueraded as Partnow cut in, West said it was arsenic.  
  
Arsenic, really? That usually leaves a telltale stench of garlic long after death. Jim's eyes flicked up to Sorsby's, and the man continued, Well, in any case, the result is the same, Mr. Gordon _appears_ to be quite dead.  
  
Sorsby moved to a tray of instruments beside the table holding Arte's body. He picked up a scalpel and smiled, gauging West's reaction.  
  
Jim felt panic rising up in him, his voice unable to cover the alarm, What are you doing?  
  
Why an autopsy of course. Where shall we start, Mr. West? The heart perhaps? I have an idea, how about if I carve him up and you eat him.  
  
Jim took several steps toward Sorsby, and was stopped when held the gun to his temple. West's body was shaking, his stomach churning, and his knees felt weak.   
  
Sorsby smiled at Jim, Well now, this is an interesting development isn't it? For a man who is looking at a corpse, you seem awfully nervous that I might cut into him. Just why would that be, hmmm?  
  
The madman placed the scalpel on Arte's chest, and Jim's bluff was called.  
  
Don't! He's--  
  
--Not dead. Yes, I know. The real Partnow told me of Mr. Gordon's background in chemistry. You didn't give him arsenic, but some kind of chemical designed to simulate death. You took an awful chance though, given how weak his condition is....  
  
What do you mean?  
  
What if he actually _is_ dead now? It's not as if he was in good shape when you left.  
  
Panic filled Jim's eyes, and he quickly moved over to the table holding Arte's body. He ran a hand down Arte's arm taking his partner's wrist in his hand, checking for a pulse. There wasn't one. Jim closed his eyes for a moment; he had to believe that Arte had known what he was doing. Positioning himself so that Sorsby couldn't see his hands, he gently took Arte's hand in his own. He removed the watch fob from his own pocket, and pressing one end into Arte's hand, he pressed a button, injecting a liquid into Arte's bloodstream. Jim then carefully pressed the small hand gun he always kept up his sleeve into the cold and lifeless hand of Artemus Gordon, placing the fob where the gun had been.  
  
He turned to Sorsby, his voice was filled with a deep sorrow, What do you want from me?  
  
You know what I want, Mr. West. Wilkinson, do you have the vials?  
  
The man Jim had known as Partnow answered,   
  
Good. So, Mr. West, we will try again. This time hanging in the balance, the mutilation and consumption of Mr. Gordon's body, and of course, the lovely Angel.  
  
Let the girl go now, and I will do as you ask.  
  
Come now, Mr. West, that would hardly be an intelligent thing for me to do. Besides, I'm rather fond of Angel.  
  
Jim had been slowly moving towards Angel, coming to a stop near the long strap holding her down. He assessed the situation: Sorsby was not holding a gun, just a scalpel, it was doubtful he could throw it accurately; Wilkinson had a gun, and that was another matter.   
  
He knew it was now or never. Jim smiled down at Angel, and reached back toward his neck, as if to straighten a kink. Quicker than the eye could follow, Jim pulled the knife hidden in the lining of his jacket, and sliced through the binding of the strap holding Angel to the table.  
  
Go Arte, twelve o'clock!  
  
In an instant, Jim's knife was flying in the air toward Sorsby, and he pulled Angel off the table, to the safety of the floor. Arte pointed his right hand straight ahead, and fired, dropping Wilkinson before the latter realized what hit him. Wilkinson fell forward and landed with a thud. Jim heard the glass vials in the man's pocket shatter.  
  
Oh shit....  
  
As he launched into motion, Jim saw Angel run out the door of the lab; it was one less thing he'd have to worry about. West grabbed Arte, his partner screaming in pain at the lack of care with which Jim picked him up. He hefted the larger man over his shoulder and ran for the nearest exit, slamming the door shut behind him. Jim didn't stop running until he and Arte were a safe distance away from the structure, and any gas that might filter outside. Jim carefully laid Arte down on the snow, his partner writhing in pain. There was no sign of Angel anywhere; but Jim couldn't worry about her escape, his partner needed him.  
  
Quickly West removed his jacket and wrapped it around Arte, Easy buddy, Calvary should be here shortly.  
  
Arte grit his teeth in distress, You were late. I thought something happened to you.  
  
I'm sorry, Arte. Gordon shivered, and West pulled him into his arms, cradling him carefully, Just relax, I've got you now.  
  
To be continued....


	6. Chapter Six

West watched the uneven rise and fall of Arte's chest. His face was so pale and fragile looking, Jim was almost afraid to touch him. Arte couldn't seem to catch his breath; his lungs were in complete distress. Tortured brown eyes slowly opened and focused on the blue ones watching over him. Jim sat on the edge of the bed, and took his friend's hand.  
  
How's the chest?  
  
Hurts like hell.  
  
A specialist is on his way, just hang in there.  
  
Even through the searing pain, Arte could see the stress in his partner's eyes, and it worried him.  
  
He tried to force his timbre to sound normal, You all right, Jim?  
  
Don't you spend one second thinking about me, Artemus. I'll be fine as soon as I know you're okay.  
  
Arte tried a small smile, I'm surprised....I'm still breathing.  
  
Then stop wasting it on small talk. Just rest now.  
  
There was a knock on the door, and a small man wearing round spectacles and a white lab coat entered the room. After checking Artemus thoroughly under Jim's watchful scrutiny, he pulled West out into the hallway.  
  
Am I to understand that you are the next of kin, Mr. West?  
  
Yes, that's right, Dr......?  
  
Anderson. Dr. Nigel Anderson. The man looked Jim in the eyes, I suggest you make certain that Mr. Gordon's affairs are in order. Despite the shock on Jim's face, Anderson's voice remained cold and clinical, I'm sorry, Mr. West, but Mr. Gordon isn't going to make it out of this.  
  
A fury that Jim didn't know existed in him, bubbled to the surface like lava in a volcano. After everything Arte had been through, this little man was saying it was over. Before he knew what he was doing, Jim had the man by the neck, and had shoved him into the wall.  
  
That's not acceptable, Dr. Anderson. Arte didn't live through all of this just so you could condemn him to death without lifting a finger to help him.  
  
Anderson remained calm, Mr. West, I understand that this must be a blow to you, but there is simply nothing I can do. The damage to Mr. Gordon's left lung is irreparable. My colleague, Dr. Mantua, did set the broken bones, but only in the interest of making Mr. Gordon comfortable. That's the only course of treatment available to us now.  
  
A voice boomed from behind Jim's shoulder, James, what in God's name are you doing? Let the man go.  
  
Anderson's eyes grew wide with disbelief. Jim turned and found himself face to face with the President of the United States.  
  
Out of habit, Jim straightened to attention, Mr. President.  
  
Grant seemed annoyed, You didn't answer my question. When Jim wasn't forthcoming, Grant took a step closer, noting the tears in the man's eyes, I take it things are not going well.  
  
Jim's voice was small, tired, I'm afraid not, sir.  
  
The President considered it for a moment, then turned toward Anderson, You are the attending, I presume?  
  
Um, yes. Yes sir....uh, yes sir, Mr. President, sir....  
  
Relax, doctor, I might be President, but I still pull my pants on one leg at a time like everyone else. Tell me about my man Gordon.  
  
It's grave, Mr. President. He has a collapsed lung, and from the looks of his contusions, there are probably other internal organ injuries. There is nothing we can do really, except keep him comfortable.  
  
Grant noticed West slump against the wall of the corridor. The President put his arm around the doctor, and walked him a few steps away.  
  
Doctor, Artemus Gordon and James West are like sons to me. Is there nothing you might even try, no matter how unlikely?  
  
The doctor stopped walking, and faced Grant, Mr. President, I could perform surgery, but in his weakened state, the chances of Mr. Gordon even surviving the procedure are very slight. And if he does live through the surgery, the odds are great that he will still die. All this must be weighed against the certainty of the pain it will cause him. As a physician, I don't recommend this course of action.  
  
Perhaps doctor, we should ask Mr. Gordon's opinion. It is, after all, his life.  
  
The doctor nodded, Very well, Mr. President.  
  
Give me a moment with Mr. West first.  
  
Anderson nodded and moved off, allowing Grant to walk over to Jim alone. The President pulled the young agent close to him, as a father would do to a son.  
  
James, I know you're devastated, but Artemus is going to need you to stay strong.  
  
All Jim could do was nod.  
  
The President continued, We're going to go talk to him, and offer him a chance, James.  
  
  
  
Yes. Dr. Anderson has agreed that if Artemus is willing to endure the procedure, he will try to repair his lung and whatever else he finds that has been damaged. But James, you must understand that the doctor feels surgery will cause Artemus to suffer a very painful end, and there is barely a chance he will survive.  
  
Barely a chance is better than none at all, Mr. President.  
  
Grant patted his back, No matter what the outcome, James, we will have done everything possible.  
  
Putting an arm around him, Grant led Jim toward Arte's door. Dr. Anderson followed the two of them into the room, and watched quietly as Jim sat down on the bed, taking Gordon's good hand in his. Arte's face was taut with a grimace, and he was shivering in distress. West rubbed his hand gently for a few minutes, and finally Arte spoke.  
  
  
  
Hey buddy, how are you holding up?  
  
Lot of pain.... Arte noticed the President standing behind Jim, Mr. President....  
  
Grant reached a hand forward and placed it gently on Arte's forehead, Relax, Artemus, it's best if you rest easy.  
  
Arte managed a nod.  
  
Grant's voice was soft, gentle, There's something we need to ask you.  
  
Yes, sir...  
  
West noticed that saying even two words at a time taxed his partner to the edge.  
  
Grant continued, Dr. Anderson can perform surgery; if you survive it, and it's successful, it will give you a chance.  
  
  
  
But the doctor feels that there is a very slim hope of survival. He is unfortunately quite certain that it will cause you tremendous pain, live or die.  
  
Sounds.....charming, sir.  
  
West squeezed his friend's hand, and Arte could plainly see the fear lining Jim's face.  
  
Come on.....Jim, you know how....I love to try new...things.  
  
Anderson spoke up, We shouldn't wait then, it will take me an hour or so to assemble the people I need.  
  
Jim turned toward Anderson, Can you give him something for the pain?  
  
  
  
Anderson left for a moment, and came back with a syringe and a glass bottle. He filled the syringe and walked over to the bed. He pulled back the blankets and aimed the needle for the large muscle in Arte's hip, slipping out of the room when he was finished. The morphine plunged into Arte's system, and after a few minutes, he began to relax. His eyes felt heavy.  
  
  
  
I'm here.  
  
  
  
  
  
The President squeezed West's shoulder on his way out, Take care of him, James, I'll be in the waiting area if you need me.  
  
Yes sir.  
  
Jim moved to the chair by the bed, and fell asleep with Arte's hand still in his.  
  
To be continued.....  



	7. Chapter Seven

West paced the length of the hallway once again, as if somehow his steps could speed up Gordon's surgery.  
  
Grant's voice reverberated in the hallway, James, sit down. You'll not help Artemus by blazing a trail in the hospital floor.  
  
Yes sir.  
  
Jim took a seat next to the President, and tried to control his nerves. He concentrated on not fidgeting, but he couldn't keep his hands still. After awhile, Grant reached over and set his hand on top of Jim's.  
  
Take it easy, James. He's a lot tougher than you think.  
  
West simply nodded, and they continued to wait in silence.  
  
********  
  
Jim stood when he saw Dr. Anderson approaching; he couldn't read the surgeon's face at all, and he could feel his heart pounding against his chest.  
  
  
  
He's a fighter, I'll say that for him. I believe his lung will mend in time, and other than some serious bruising to a few internal organs, he has survived the ordeal.  
  
Arte's going to be okay?  
  
Yes, although he''ll be in considerable pain for awhile, and you'll have to patient for a full recovery.  
  
Grant felt the sting of tears in his eyes, and he looked away, whispering, Thank God.  
  
Jim was overcome with emotion, and found himself leaning on the nearest pillar of support, which happened to be the President. Grant put an arm around West, holding him up.  
  
You need some rest, James, and I'll take no argument.  
  
Jim wasn't about to disagree. He collapsed into the President and allowed Grant to pull him into his arms and carry him down the hall. The President's security detail knew better than to interfere with Grant's deliberate hauling of Jim West to an empty hospital room by himself. The men simply followed in silence at a discreet distance, taking up positions around the room once West had been covered with a blanket, and the President was sitting in a chair next to him.   
  
When Jim awoke, Grant would have the unpleasant task of informing him that the Secret Service only found the body of Wilkinson in Sorsby's lab. It wasn't proof positive that the maniac was still alive, but it didn't confirm his death either. And the woman Angel had disappeared without a trace. No one could remember seeing her in the train station, nor had she been spotted in a stage. There was the possibility that they had not yet seen the last of Clarence J. Sorsby or his daughter. The President shook off these thoughts: it was enough for now to be thankful that West and Gordon had foiled the man's plot to gain power, and that they lived to tell about it.  
  
********  
  
The smoke stack puffed in a steady rhythm as the train chugged along the track. Inside the main car, West looked over at his partner, who had fallen asleep on the couch. Arte's face was still slightly pale, and the residual wheezing from his injured lung resonated in the room as he slept. But he was well on his way to recovering completely, and that was enough to light Jim's lips with a smile.  
  
West yawned and looked at the clock on the desk; it was almost midnight, and time for bed. He walked over to Arte, poised to wake him, but then thought better of it. Artemus looked peaceful for the first time in weeks, and West decided it was preferable to leave him to his dreams. Carefully, Jim removed the open book from Arte's lap, placed a pillow under his head, and covered him gently with a blanket.  
  
Once again, the train felt like home.  
  
The End  



End file.
